


like a bomb that's ready to blow

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agent Derek Hale, Agent Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Monster of the Week, Rescue Missions, Spanish Translation, Spies & Secret Agents, Sterekweek2018, Translation Available, sterekvampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-08 06:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16424444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Derek Hale can handle anything. After all, he is an alpha werewolf and a member of the Supernatural Emergency Containment, Rehabilitation, and Eradication Taskforce.A SECRET agent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day Three of Sterek Week 2018: Vampires
> 
> EDIT: Now translated into Spanish by the amazing [lbp98l](https://www.wattpad.com/user/lbp98l) on wattpad [HERE!](https://www.wattpad.com/story/174319159-like-a-bomb-that%27s-ready-to-blow)

Northern Minnesota was freezing, even in early September. Derek placed his feet carefully on the tunnel floor and tried not to breathe, least the white cloud of condensation give him away in the darkness.

Ahead of him staggered a lone vampire, the last of its nest. Some sort of sickness had spread through the local population, eating away at their minds until they were nothing but angry killing machines. It was unlike anything Derek had ever heard of.

But, unheard of or not, people were going missing from popular hiking trails and two of the bodies were found by authorities. With the blood completely drained. So, the Supernatural Emergency Containment, Rehabilitation, and Eradication Taskforce, also known as SECRET, was called to fix the problem without drawing any more attention to the area.

“Agent, what is your status.”

The sudden voice in his ear had Derek clenching his fists and ducking behind the cover of a boulder.

“Little busy right now,” he breathed, familiar enough with the communications systems to know that even barely audible sound could be amplified and understood.

“Agent, I don’t have visual.”

This time, Derek ignored the interruption. He was far enough into the side of the rocky hill that there wasn’t enough signal to transmit video footage. And there really wasn’t much to see besides fallen rocks and rough tunnel walls.

A sigh crackled over the speaker. “Fucking alphas.”

“That’s hardly professional.”

Derek stepped out from his hiding spot, drawing the vampire’s attention. Whatever sickness had infected the nest made the vampire significantly slower and less intelligent. Any humanity left in the creature’s face vanished as it dropped to all fours, fangs extended.

“If you can argue with me, you can tell me your status.”

“Busy,” he grunted, tackling the vampire to the ground and taking off its head with a massive blow.

There was swearing and a clattering of keys as his handler tried to reestablish visual. “Agent Hale?”

“It’s dead.” Derek brushed the rock chips off of his arm and turned for the exit.

“Did you burn it?”

Suddenly, Derek’s skull was rebounding off the tunnel floor. He barely bit back a yell as the vampire gouged a chunk out of his shoulder with its unnaturally sharp fingernails. Footsteps echoed, loud over the throbbing in his head and Boyd burst into the tunnel, Erica close on his heels. She hoisted her flame thrower, waiting until Boyd flung the now-headless vamp off of Derek.

“You _idiot_ ,” his handler hissed. “This is why you listen during debrief. I swear I’m not just blowing smoke out my ass, this shit is important-”

Derek flipped the tiny switch on his earpiece, cutting off the voice. Boyd rolled his eyes.

“You good?”

 “Yeah.” He shook out his shoulder, finding it already healed. “I’m good.”

An awful blaring screeched off the tunnel walls and all three agents hit the ground. It took a moment to identify Derek’s com as the source of the noise. Someone in the tech department must have hacked into it and switched it back on.

“You pull that stunt again and I’ll assign you to Greenberg,” his handler said, audible even over the ringing in his ears.

Derek tugged the communication device out and stuffed it into his tac vest.

Boyd stared at him. “Are you sure that was a good idea?”

“He won’t actually assign us to Greenberg. We’re too important.”

Erica snorted, then hit the button to call in the cleanup crew. Isaac and McCall were _technically_ not assigned to the mission, but taking care of evidence didn’t count. Plus, SECRET was shorthanded and more backup was always good.

Once Derek was sure that the two agents had everything under control, he slipped out of the cave. The air was cold enough to burn his lungs, but it chased away the smell of charred flesh and singed clothing. It didn’t do much for the memories, but it wasn’t like Derek didn’t live with those already.

\---

Allison Argent was waiting for them on the helipad. She filled an odd place in the agency, as both a member of McCall’s team and the director’s right hand. Her posture and stern demeanor clearly broadcasted which role she held at that moment.

“Hale, report to Finstock for disciplinary instruction. The rest of you, with me.” She turned on her heel, marching off in the direction of the director’s office.

Erica nudged his shoulder as she passed. “See you after debrief, boss.”

He nodded, almost relieved that he was going to get reprimanded by the head of SECRET’s tech department rather than spending an hour under the ice-cold gaze of Chris Argent. He was a good man and had Derek’s respect as director, but his eyes were unnervingly like his sister’s.

Derek spent most of Finstock’s lecture sprawled on the chair in front of the desk, contemplating whether he should eat something or just fall into bed the second he got home. Maybe there were still protein bars stashed in his locker. Or in his bag. If his teammates hadn’t already stolen them.

“Are you even listening, Hale?” Finstock demanded, his heightened emotions leaving him red in the face.

Pushing himself upright, Derek jerked a nod. “Yes sir.”

He’d had the lecture about _why agents had coms_ and _why it was necessary to maintain his contact with SECRET_ more times than he could remember.

Finstock eventually reached the end of his tirade. “Got it, cupcake?”

Derek snorted. “The Fox never had a handler.”

“If you can prove yourself to be even half as good an agent The Fox was, we’ll talk.” Finstock got to his feet. “Until then, listen to your goddamn handler.”

Boyd was waiting outside, easily falling into step with Derek. “You and Stilinski need to work this out. It’s impacting the entire team.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Derek said, barely refraining from flashing his eyes.

Unmoved, Boyd continued. “He’s the best handler we have. Martin will eat you alive and Greenburg is utterly useless. You cannot screw this up.”

“I know that.” Derek winced at his own tone. His Beta didn’t deserve his frustration. “Sorry. I do know that.”

Boyd backed off, point made. He was right, of course. Stiles Stilinski was incredibly smart, not only in his knowledge of random facts that always turned out being mission-critical, but also in his ability to think on his feet, anticipating a mark’s move before even they knew what they were going to do. 

Isaac and Erica dropped in beside them, bickering about what kind of takeout they should order for their post-mission movie night. Derek growled when he saw one of his protein bars emerge from Erica’s pocket.

She grinned shamelessly, tearing the package open with her teeth. “Heard you and Stilinski got into a lovers’ spat.”

“Erica.”

“I know you think you’re the next Fox, but you gotta stop antagonizing Stilinski,” Isaac added while Erica nodded, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk from stuffing the entire bar into her mouth. “I don’t want him to drop us in northern Alaska to fight Yetis with nothing but a tin of sardines and an inflatable duck.”

“Yeti are peaceful creatures.” Derek could have disappeared at the sound of the voice behind them. “And I certainly wouldn’t insult them by sending you.”

Stiles was leaning against the wall around the corner, clearly waiting for them.

“I assume you’re all heading to my office to turn in your equipment?”

Boyd nodded, weapons most likely cleaned and ready to return. Erica smiled flirtatiously, in a way that suggested she’d already hidden the flame thrower somewhere no one but her could find again. Isaac scowled at her back, clearly aware that they’d all have to do something distasteful if she kept stealing the good stuff. Derek just rubbed his forehead, defeated.

Allison squeezed past them, bumping against Stiles’ shoulder.

“As much as I’d like to put your team leader on probation,” Stiles glared at Derek. “There is a situation in Nevada that needs to be taken care of.”

“Already?” Isaac, the second deadliest sniper in the world, pouted like a little kid. “We just got back.”

“Unfortunately, the four of you – plus Allison – are still our most competent team. Which means that, yes, you will be going.”

“What’s the case?” Allison asked, keeping them on track. Which was really Derek’s job, but he was too thrown off by how aloof Stiles was acting.

Stiles steered them into his office and brought up an image on the wall. It was a mangled body, features obliterated except for the fangs that marked it as a ‘wolf.

“Shifter bodies, torn apart, keep showing up in Lake Mead.” He flipped through several similarly horrifying images, face blank.

“What’s causing this?” Allison looked nauseated.

Stiles grabbed a laser pointer from the disaster of his workspace and used it to indicate clear claw and fang marks on the bodies. “Best guess is supernatural fighting rings.”

“Just outside of Vegas,” Erica sagged into a chair, face pale. “Makes sense.”

“Local authorities?” Boyd asked, eyes already closed against the picture of a wolf pup torn to pieces.

Switching the projector off, Stiles moved to stand at his monitor with his back to the room. “How do you think we found out about the bodies?”

“Do you think the case is big enough for The Fox to make a comeback?” Isaac asked, looking morbidly curious.

Stiles let out an ugly laugh. “The Fox is old news. And old means as good as dead in this business.”

There was something about the bitterness that seemed personal, so of course Derek’s team pushed.

“Were you a handler when he was operational?” Erica asked, eyes sharp.

Frowning, Stiles looked over his shoulder. “It could’ve been a she. Or a they.”

The agent called The Fox was a mystery, a ghost story even to highly trained operatives such as themselves. The Fox had the highest number of successful missions and was known in just about every underground organization. The agent had retired the year before Derek was hired, after taking on a group that was supposedly trafficking supernatural kids. Instead, The Fox and the trainee assigned to the mission were led into a trap by false intel from the former director, Gerard Argent. Both agents were tortured, but only The Fox survived.

“Well, were you?” Isaac had the determined look on his face that usually preceded interrogations.

Stiles’ face went blank again as he looked away from the group. “No.”

Which was the shortest answer any of them had ever gotten from Stiles. Erica and Isaac looked like they were already coordinating a verbal assault to get more intel.

Allison cleared her throat. “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow at 0600. I’d suggest you get some sleep.”

It was a clear dismissal, aided by Allison’s death glare that had Isaac and Erica ducking their heads submissively.

“Agent Hale.”

Derek froze, already halfway out of the room. With a sigh, he turned back, letting the other agents pass. Boyd was the last to go, leveling him a significant look before clapping Derek on the shoulder and pushing the door closed behind him.

The clacking of keys halted, but Stiles still had his eyes fixed on the screen. They stood in silence for longer than Derek thought possible, while he fought the urge to shift uneasily or break the silence. After months of maybe-flirting, Derek might have blurred the lines.

“I am your handler.”  Stiles finally turned to face him. “It is my responsibility to keep you and your team safe. I can’t do that if you don’t listen to me.”

This side of Stiles was something completely foreign. The mischievous asshole that Derek knew was replaced with a cold, hardened agent. It was obvious in the set of his jaw and the haunted look in his eye that he had lost people. How else would a human become part of SECRET anyway?

“I apologize, Agent Stilinski.”

Stiles nodded, eyes straying back to the image still up on the monitor screen.

“And Agent Hale?”

Derek paused at the door.

“Try to keep them alive.”


	2. Chapter 2

A flurry of motion and elevated heartbeats roused Derek from his shallow sleep. It had been three days since the team was captured by the group of hunters that supplied prisoners for the fighting rings. Isaac had already taken a turn in the lineup and whatever the hunters had injected him with had slowed down his healing factor to almost-human speed.

Erica had strongly objected to the state he was returned to the cell in, which meant that she was also barely clinging to consciousness. Derek was starting to doubt that the extraction team was coming. Even if McCall would die before he abandoned Allison.

By some stroke of luck, the hunters had missed the tiny listening device still tucked in Derek’s ear. And although he’d been unable to speak to SECRET, Stiles had kept up a running commentary on inane things ranging from outlandish recipes to recounting the plot of the last film he’d been to. The constant chatter helped more than Derek was willing to acknowledge.

At least up until the moment Stiles lost his cool. Derek had never heard him sound anything but collected on the coms, even when a mission went belly up. But this time, Stiles had sounded scared. The shakiness in his voice made Derek’s stomach flip. If their best handler couldn’t see a way out, then the team was almost definitely fucked.

“Derek.”

He snapped upright, focusing on Allison in the next cell. She had Erica’s head cradled in her lap, fingers wrapped in blonde strands. Without looking at him, she said, “Someone made it over the fence.”

And that was certainly one benefit to having a former hunter on the team. She knew all of their captor’s signals and codes. 

“Maybe it’s McCall,” Boyd murmured, barely loud enough for werewolf hearing.

Isaac hummed, curling further into Derek’s side. Derek took hold of his arm, draining some of his pain and giving Boyd a chance to rest.

Several tense moments passed as Derek and Boyd strained to hear what was going on. Then gunfire rang out.

One of the hunters, the one Isaac had nick-named Stinky Pete, ran into the building and engaged every lock on the outer door.

“What’s going on?” A hunter assigned to guard duty drew his weapon and kicked his partner awake.

Stinky Pete leaned against the door, heart racing and oozing terror. “It’s The Fox.”

Glass shattered somewhere nearby, indicating that the control room had been breached. The remaining guards ran toward the sound, halted by a round of silenced shots. Their bodies fell limp just outside the doorway. 

It took seconds for the red lights on each cell to flicker and wink green, locks disengaging with the mechanical clunk of tumblers. A few brave prisoners pushed at the doors, while others cowered away.

McCall entered the room cautiously, gun raised. Once he confirmed it was secured, he propped open the outer door and signaled to whoever was there. A team of medics flooded in, shouting orders and getting injured prisoners onto stretchers.

While they were occupied, McCall turned to Derek. “Ready to get out of here?”

Allison waved off McCall’s offer of assistance, instead helping Erica to her feet. Boyd leaned heavily into Derek, letting him feel the relief and certainty wash through the pack bond, before shuffling toward the open door. They were going to be okay.

Navigating through the room was an ordeal all by itself.

“Where are they taking them?” Allison asked, wrapping an arm around Erica’s waist to keep her steady.

Scott carefully side-stepped a nurse wielding a syringe, Isaac a deadweight on his shoulders. “Finstock and the director set up a network of hospitals and care facilities with doctors that can treat them.”

Derek could feel the team relax even more. But once they stepped out into the sunlight, apprehension zinged through the bonds again, magnified by each individual. 

There were bodies everywhere.

A man in tactical gear stood in the middle of the carnage, armed to the teeth. Everything about his stance screamed vigilance. McCall shrugged Isaac down, handing him off to Boyd, before cautiously approaching the man. He kept his posture loose and open, empty hands displayed by his sides, no hint of Alpha posturing evident anywhere on his person.

The man watched him approach, gradually lowering the gun in his hand. A blood red fox was painted across the chest piece of his body armor

“You’re real!” Isaac collapsed even more into Boyd’s side, eyes wide.

McCall and The Fox didn’t acknowledge the outburst. 

“Hey.” McCall reached out to settle a hand on The Fox’s shoulder. His voice was painfully gentle, like he was soothing a scared animal. “Hey, it’s clear. Everyone’s okay.”

The Fox nodded once, face completely hidden behind the mask, and holstered his handgun. 

McCall fussed over the bullet hole beneath his fingers, but the Fox didn’t seem to notice.  Rather, once McCall stepped out of his space, The Fox liberated the nearest machine gun from its former owner and covered the team all the way out of the compound and into a waiting vehicle.

Landing back at base was chaos. Another group of medics, this time with SECRET identification on their scrubs, swarmed the group and Derek finally relaxed. His team was safe. Isaac would get the medical attention he needed. But somewhere in the general disorder, The Fox vanished.

Derek, Allison, and Scott were the only members well enough to debrief. Luckily, Argent kept it short, his gaze lingering on his daughter.

“All in all, the mission parameters were met, and no lives were lost.” Argent sighed, eyes holding so much remorse that Derek felt guilty for ever comparing him to his sister. “I hesitate to call it a success, but on paper we did accomplish what we set out to do.”

Going over the people in the room again, Derek finally registered the missing piece.

“Where’s St– Agent Stilinski?”

McCall looked uneasy. “He disobeyed direct orders. The director gave him mandatory leave.”

“What?” Derek masked his disappointment in surprise. Which wasn’t difficult because he could certainly imagine Stiles arguing with something he didn’t agree with. But to go completely rogue was dangerous. Treasonous.

Catching onto his train of thought, McCall scrambled to correct, “He’s fine! He’s totally fine. Just needed some time to cool off.”

“Right.” Derek looked between Allison, Argent, and McCall. Something was off, but he was too tired to pick it out. “I’m going to sleep for about a year.”

Argent huffed. “Go. You’ve earned it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely no editing. Not even a quick read through. We die like men.

Unfortunately, sleep didn’t appear to be an option. Derek was used to the post-mission adjustment, trying to switch his brain from hypervigilant to relaxed. Or as relaxed as a secret agent could get, he supposed. In front of him, the late-night news flashed to some kind of infomercial. At least it was probably an infomercial. The sound wasn’t on and Derek was too tired to focus on the subtitles.

He was just contemplating moving from the sofa to the bed when a tap at the door sent him rolling to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Teeth elongating and nails sharpening, Derek approached the door.

A glance through the peephole revealed a familiar slouched figure standing on his mat. Derek immediately disengaged the locks, nearly ripping out the hinges in his haste to open the door.

“Stiles,” he said, then froze. How did you greet someone who had kept you sane while you were chained up, injected with strange chemicals, and forced to watch your packmates suffer?

But it seemed that Stiles was functioning on autopilot. He stumbled into the front hall, leaving Derek to reset the locks.

“Need to get you real security,” Stiles mumbled, collapsing facedown onto Derek’s sofa.

Normally, Derek would have argued that having an Alpha werewolf in the building was the best kind of security. But Stiles looked exhausted, shadows deeply embedded beneath his eyes. His slacks were heavily creased, and the red button up he was wearing looked like one of Scott’s.

Being on the coms while your team was kidnapped and possibly tortured must have been agonizing. The idea of being helpless to do anything other than talk for hours was painful. And Derek was the one who had been injected with wolfsbane.

He tapped at Stiles’ calves until he rolled over with a tired groan, pulling his knees back to give Derek enough space to sit. “How’re you holding up?”

“Fine.” Stiles laughed, depreciating. “I’m not the one who got stuck with needles and forced to fight to the death.”

Derek settled a hand on his ankle, stroking over the fabric of his pant leg. He should probably offer him something more comfortable to change into. Or something to eat.

“Hungry?”

Stiles just shrugged a shoulder, which was the least Stiles-like thing Derek had ever seen. Maybe they were going to have to talk about the whole ending-up-suspended situation. Great. Derek tried to get a read on Stiles’ emotions with his other senses, which was something that he usually refrained from doing outside of work. Because Talia Hale had believed in raising children with manners.

Focusing his senses on Stiles turned out to be harder than Derek had expected. His heartrate was slightly elevated, potentially due to the stress of the mission, and his breathing hitched every so often. He smelled off in an almost chemical way, but it was obscured by the scent-covering shampoo and body wash the agents sometimes used for missions. Derek had no idea what to make of it.

He squeezed Stiles’ ankle gently, thinking over his words.

“How about,” he hesitated for a moment. “How about I show you where I hide the Fruit Loops and you tell me about what happened on your side of the coms?”

Stiles snorted. “Scotty told you I got suspended.”

It wasn’t a question, but Derek nodded anyway.

“Maybe I didn’t feel that they were doing enough to ensure that we got you--” Stiles coughed awkwardly, dragging himself upright. “I mean that we got _the team_ back in one piece.”

“But you did,” Derek said, glossing over the moment. “Everyone is okay.”

He nudged Stiles’ shoulder, trying to be supportive. Instead, Stiles flinched away. He tried to hide the reaction, but the smell of pain and blood flared bright over the scent-covering soap. Derek panicked, dragging at his shirt collar, top buttons scattering, until he revealed the gauze and tape encasing Stiles’ shoulder.

Derek’s brain shut down for a beat, then rebooted as the new information slipped into place. “You’re The Fox.”

Stiles shrugged his – well, McCall’s – shirt back into place. “It’s been a long couple of days, man. Maybe you should get some sleep, before you say anything else crazy. Cuz I am definitely not The Fox.” He got to his feet, movements stiff and careful now that Derek knew what to look for. “I’ll see you at work.”

His heartbeat didn’t even hiccup over the lie. Derek probably should have felt betrayed since Stiles had been able to lie to weres all along, but Derek never claimed to have normal reactions to anything.

Stepping into Stiles’ path, he held his hands out like McCall had done only a day ago.

“Stiles,” he said and hell. Was that even his name? Derek suddenly felt wrong footed. “I get it. Okay? If anyone can understand wanting to bury the past, it’s me.”

Stiles braced himself before shouldering past Derek. “Let it go, Derek. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think…” he trailed off with a humorless laugh.

His hand was on the doorknob when Derek found his voice again. “Stiles, wait. Please. Please don’t leave.”

Stiles faltered, grip tightening on the metal, throwing the scars on his knuckles into sharp relief.

“We can forget about it, if that’s you want.” Derek scrubbed a hand over his face. Fuck, he was tired. “This doesn’t change anything unless you want it to.”

Stiles stood at the door, shoulders tensed as the seconds ticked by. Derek saw the exact moment he caved, posture slumping, radiating exhaustion. This time, he perched on the sofa cushions with more care, careful of the bullet wounds and whatever other injuries he had acquired.

They sat in silence for a long while, Stiles holding uncharacteristically still.

“Her name was Heather.”

Derek didn’t dare to breathe, letting Stiles drift, eyes unfocused.

“It was her first real mission for SECRET and she was so excited to be paired with me.” Stiles huffed at the memory. “She idolized The Fox.”

Finally, he turned to Derek, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “Almost as much as Isaac does.”

Derek slid closer, hand wrapping around the wrist of Stiles’ injured arm to drain any residual pain. At least the chemical scent made sense. Whatever painkillers Medical had given him were doing most of the work.

To Derek’s surprise, Stiles wriggled his wrist free so he could intertwine their fingers. “Can I stay?” he asked.

“Of course.” Derek tugged him to his feet. “But you’re not sleeping on the couch with a hole in your shoulder.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“Right,” Derek didn’t let go of his hand until they were in his bedroom, and then only because he needed both hands to find what he was looking for.

Passing a bundle of worn-soft fabric to Stiles, he gestured at the bathroom. Stiles took in the faded t-shirt and smirked. Maybe he’d picked up on the fact that Derek had chosen his oldest set of pajamas. Which was only partly because Stiles still smelled wrong and it was driving Derek nuts.

He waited while Stiles stumbled around the bathroom, swearing quietly. After a defeated sigh, Stiles pushed the door open. He had managed to pull on the sweatpants but was still wearing the button up.

“I--” he prodded helplessly at the buttons, fingers clumsy with exhaustion and the adrenaline crash.

Derek reached for him, letting Stiles close the distance. Careful not to jostle Stiles’ injured shoulder, Derek worked the buttons free. He didn’t know a lot about human medicine, but he was pretty sure Stiles should be wearing a sling. And probably still be in medical.

That train of thought came to a screeching halt as Stiles peeled out of the borrowed shirt. Underneath, his skin was a patchwork of scar tissue, like Derek’s would be if he didn’t heal. Unable to help himself, Derek traced one particularly nasty looking scar crossing over Stiles’ heart. He shuddered to think how potentially fatal it was; he could have ended up not meeting Stiles at all.

When he looked up, Stiles was watching him with guarded eyes.

Derek cleared his throat. “Do you want a different shirt?” The t-shirt was soft, but Stiles would still have to get it over his head.

At the slight nod, Derek dug around in his drawers until he located a soft flannel that he didn’t remember buying. Judging from the size it could have been one of Boyd's. He passed it to Stiles and stepped back.

“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be on the couch.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, holding out his good arm and wiggling his fingers until Derek took his hand. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said, pulling Derek toward the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue coming sometime tomorrow!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who read, commented and left kudos on this fic! It really helped keep me motivated.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy the epilogue :*

Derek woke up gradually. He stretched his arm across the bed, unsurprised when it only encountered cold sheets. Rolling to his feet, he followed the smell of coffee out into the living room.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.

Stiles hummed from his perch on the window seat, eyes fixed on the rising sun. He tilted his head back for a kiss as Derek passed by, cradling his mug close to his chest with his good arm.

After filling his own mug, Derek returned to the window, nudging Stiles until he had enough room to slip behind him with Stiles' back to his chest.

They watched the sunrise together, Stiles squirming until he had Derek’s arm wrapped around his middle. He leaned back into the hold with a sigh and Derek couldn’t resist pressing another kiss to his temple.

“You ready for today?” he asked, keeping his voice low to not disturb the quiet morning.

Stiles shrugged. “It’ll be good to see everyone again.” He frowned at where he was finally wearing the sling like he was supposed to. “Although typing one handed is going to suck.”

Derek slid his free hand up the front of Stiles’ shirt, draining away any residual soreness. “The doctor said at least one more week.”

“Ughhhh.” Stiles thumped his head back into Derek’s shoulder. “Too long.”

“What are you going to tell the team?”

Sighing, Stiles drained the last of his coffee. “The truth. Maybe. If they ask.”

“Okay.” Derek started tracing small circles onto Stiles’ stomach, feeling his abs clench under the light touch.

Stiles twisted around so he could see his face. “Okay? That’s it?”

“It’s your choice,” Derek said. It was something he’d thought about briefly, when he’d woken up that first morning and wondered if he should feel lied to or betrayed. But in the end, Stiles didn’t owe any of them his ‘traumatic backstory,’ as he called it, and Derek wasn’t going to push.

After a moment, Stiles nodded and relaxed back against Derek. “I’m really going to miss this.”

Derek snorted. “You are bored out of your mind. We can’t make toast because you took apart the toaster yesterday.” He nuzzled into Stiles’ wild hair. “Although being here, with you, has been nice.”

“Maybe I’ll stick around,” Stiles said, sounding flippant.

But Derek heard the uptick in his heartrate, smelled the nervous tension gathering. “Well, you have to fix the toaster still. And make me sit through every episode of Star Trek.”

“Someone has to show you why TNG is a thousand times better than TOS.”  

Trailing kisses down the side of Stiles’ neck, Derek paused. “I don’t think that was English. Or any of the other nine languages that I speak.”

Stiles' laugh turned into a groan as he checked his watch, setting his coffee mug to the side. He got to his feet, arching his back in a stretch, then offered Derek his good hand.

“We should get ready.”

With one last look out the window, Derek let himself be dragged toward the bedroom.

\---

“Do you think they set up a group notification?” Stiles asked, already reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt.

Derek frowned, shifting the Camaro into park. There was a decent sized crowd waiting by his usual spot in the garage. “I’d say Erica, but Boyd is more organized.”

Distracted, Stiles nodded. He smelled like apprehension and nerves, which was strange. These were his friends as much as Derek’s.

“Hey.” He reached for Stiles’ hand. “What’re you thinking?”

Stiles blinked, then made an aborted move to rub at the back of his neck. “Just. Are you sure you’re okay with them knowing?”

“That we’re together?” Derek fixed the sling where Stiles’ flailing had twisted it. “I’d shout it from the roof tops if I didn’t know Finstock would skin me for doing something so dumb.”

A strange look came over Stiles’ face. “Do you think it would grow back? Your pelt?”

Derek snorted. “Get out of the car, idiot.”

“Oh no!” Stiles slid down his seat. “The romance is already dead.”

“Drama queen,” Derek muttered, swinging the door open.

Almost immediately, Erica had her arms around his neck, clinging on to him like a limpet.

Isaac was right behind her, asking, “Have you heard from Stiles? Nobody’s seen him since the rescue. We think he got court-martialed.”

“Court-martialed. That’s new.” Right on que, Stiles stumbled out of the passenger seat, his sling slowing him down.

Erica shrieked right in Derek’s ear. “Did you guys come in together? What happened to your arm? Why do you need a sling?”

Stiles stepped into Derek’s space, a solid warmth against his side. Derek slipped an arm over his shoulders, careful of the injury.

“Because I got shot, dumbass.”

Isaac, already over his disappointment at Stiles not being court-martialed, asked, “What do you mean you got shot?”

“I mean a projectile tore through my skin with enough force for me to require surgery because I don’t have super healing powers.” Stiles leaned even more into Derek, clearly waiting for them to put the pieces together.

Erica and Isaac immediately shoved Derek out of the way to check him over and even Boyd followed, reaching out to comfort his injured pack member. And Derek had no idea how it had taken him so long to realize that Stiles was pack.

Allison cleared her throat from where she had hung back from the initial welcome. Of course she knew the truth about The Fox. Her father was the director of SECRET and she had started pretty much right out of high school, right around the same time as Scott and Stiles. Plus Scott – and by default Stiles – would never keep a secret from her.

“So, he told you?” She kept her voice pitched low, not drawing attention from where his betas were fussing over Stiles.

“He did.” Probably not everything, but they had all the time in the world for the rest.

Allison nodded. “Stiles can handle himself, but just know that if you hurt him, my long-range accuracy scores have never been beaten.”

Derek tried not to flinch at the threat. “Noted.”

“I’m happy for you both.” She smiled brightly, expression going from deadly to angelic in an instant.

Erica whipped around, catching the last bit of the conversation. “Wait you’re dating?”

Boyd’s cough sounded a lot like, “Finally.”

“Hang on,” Isaac looked Stiles up and down. “The Fox got shot in the shoulder too.”

“Stiles is The Fox? Stiles is The Fox.” Erica smacked at Boyd’s arm until he caught her hand and threaded their fingers together.

Allison started laughing, phone out and clearly recording the scene. Derek was willing to bet Scott would have seen the footage before they even made it into the building.

Stiles left the betas where they were comparing notes on every rumor they’d heard about The Fox and pressed up behind Derek, leaning against his back. “I think we broke them.”

Derek turned his head for a kiss. “I think we did.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable post and edit [HERE!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/post/179474219068/like-a-bomb-thats-ready-to-blow-derek-hale-can)


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